


Being Extra

by SomeFrenchWhore



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith Having No Fashion Sense At All, Lance is Florida Man, M/M, OT3, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeFrenchWhore/pseuds/SomeFrenchWhore
Summary: In which Hunk and Lance encounter a cool, mysterious stranger at their favorite bar, and hijinks ensue. Eventual ot3.





	1. Hi, I'm Hunk.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for ot3s and Hunk never gets enough love, so this happened. The rating will probably change if I ever get around to writing more chapters, but we'll see.

The walls of the bar were blue, but they looked black in the dim lighting the patrons liked to (generously) call romantic. With linoleum floors and a creaky little stage in one corner, it was decidedly not the kind of trendy place where you’d run into celebrities, but that simplicity was part of its charm. It didn’t pretend to be fancy.

Lance and Hunk, similarly, were men of simple tastes. They loved pizza, beer, pop music, and each other. So, they found themselves here almost every weekend, and sometimes on weeknights. Thursday was karaoke night, and Hunk was too nice to tell Lance he was wrong when he claimed he could sing, so they were situated at a little table waiting for his turn, close enough to the stage but not so close they couldn’t get to the bar. Liquid courage helped his karaoke skills. Hunk was driving, so he very responsibly stuck to his (adorable) virgin Shirley Temples.

“It’s not adorable! It’s called being responsible.” He sulked when Lance pointed it out.

“It so is. A big, buff, intimidating guy like you, drinking a hot pink fizzy drink- it’s pretty fuckin’ adorable.”

“I’m intimidating?” He raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.

“To strangers who don’t know you’re 100% marshmallow fluff wrapped in caramel skin, yes.”

That didn’t improve Hunk’s sulking very much, but just then, a new song began, and they both turned to look at the stage curiously. Most karaoke participants only got a glance before Lance proceeded to ignore them in favor of drinking his beer and distracting his boyfriend, but this one happened to be beautiful, striking enough to keep his attention. With that long, choppy haircut and eccentric outfit, the man onstage could pass for a famous kpop star already, and when he started singing, Lance and Hunk both began to wonder if he was.

If so, what was he doing in a dive bar just north of Miami? Hunk immediately started to worry, what if he was North Korean and on the run from his oppressive government? What if this was a pop star prank and they were being filmed right now? He definitely shouldn’t have worn such an ugly shirt. Worst of all, Lance was hypnotized. What if none of these things were true, but… Lance was interested anyway? He certainly looked it, frozen with one hand still wrapped around his half-empty glass and his eyes fixed on the stage. Hunk had seen that face hundreds of times back when they were in school together, the face of a crush forming, but that was before Lance was his, back when Hunk just had to deal with whatever cute girl or boy he was rambling about that week. Then again, he reminded himself, this wasn’t like back then. Lance was his, he said so every day, and could he really blame him when the man onstage looked like a sticky-sweet croquembouche he just wanted to take apart?

For once, it was Lance who interrupted his ogling, and not the other way around. “Hunk.” He interjected, very seriously.

“Huh?” aaand his anxiety was back. Did Lance catch him mentally comparing the stranger to desserts?? Was he upset about it??

“What’cha thinking about?” Lance smirked and sipped his beer, clearly expecting a less-than-pure answer.

“Uh, food, actually.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Like what? That sweet-n-spicy lil’ egg roll onstage?”

“Lance! That’s kinda racist, you don’t even know he’s Chinese, and-” Even in the dim light, he could see Hunk turning pink.

“Hah! You totally were!!” He crowed, and then abruptly stood up. “It’s my turn- go make sure he doesn’t leave ‘til I’m done, yeah?”

“Lance, I can’t-” but, of course, he wasn’t listening. He was bounding up onto the stage, doing an entirely-unnecessary salsa walk as the intro to some Shakira song began.

“This is dedicated to the angel that just sang before me. Add his next drink to my tab, Coran.” He winked at the ginger bartender, who saluted in response, and half the crowd murmured curiously, vaguely scandalized. Did they know each other? Either way, the song began, and whatever Lance lacked in singing abilities, he made up for with the sinful way he danced at every instrumental break.

Usually, Hunk would be seated at their table enjoying the show, but at the moment, he was fidgeting in his chair, debating whether to take Lance’s suggestion seriously or not. Getting up to go talk to a pretty stranger was on the same level as picking up a tarantula, in Hunk’s mind, but if he didn’t, Lance would be disappointed in him, so he was faced with deciding which was worse, spiders or disappointment? Maybe he could just go buy Lance another drink and he’d forget about him, and not have to deal with either one. Yes, perfect plan.

As luck would have it, just as he walked up to the bar, the only empty space between all the people seated at bar stools was next to The Pretty Singer Boy Himself. That didn’t mean he had to talk to him, though, right? Nah. Nope, he’d just walk up, order a drink, and walk away, and it would be fine. Hunk had the social graces of a toddler, though, so once he was standing right there, waiting for the bartender to notice him waving, he couldn’t help but stare.

“What.” It turned out that Pretty Singer Boy’s speaking voice did not match his singing voice, especially when it was markedly more annoyed than sweet, intensely scrutinizing this weirdo in a headband sitting next to him.

“Nothing!” He quickly looked away, ordered Lance a drink, and scurried back to the table. Hunk didn’t look back, but if he had, he’d know that Pretty Singer Boy watched him go, with something that might even be curiosity in his dark eyes.

When Lance was done hamming it up onstage, he was met with more applause than most, but considering most people got only a few polite claps, that wasn’t saying much. Still, any validation was good validation, so he grinned and hopped off the stage without using the stairs, landing with surprising grace for a man whose BAC was probably double the legal limit. Maybe that was why, after making eye contact with his boyfriend, he simply winked and made a beeline for the bar instead of rejoining him. Hunk’s jaw dropped, but Lance didn’t see his scandalized expression. He was busy laying a hand on Pretty Singer Boy’s shoulder, saying something he probably thought was funny, but the mysterious stranger didn’t laugh.

Pretty Singer Boy did, however, take a moment to check Lance out, eyes visibly flicking downwards before they came back up to look him in the eye, and Hunk was out of his chair before he could think better of it, taking Lance’s drink with him. (He wasn’t about to waste it, duh- and the overconfident boy could probably benefit from having something better to do with his mouth than run it.)

By the time he made it over to them, all he overheard was the pretty stranger mocking Lance. “Trust me, you can’t handle me, beanpole.” The list of people allowed to talk to Lance like that only included Hunk himself, Pidge, and Lance’s mother, so Hunk was immediately on the defensive.

That said, Hunk was the type to kill with kindness, so rather than open with an insult, he gave the pretty stranger a second chance, inserting himself with a half-genuine grin. “Hi, I’m Hunk. And you are?”

Lance, bless his stupid soul, answered for him. “This is Keith. Keith, this is my beautiful boyfriend, who I handle just fine on a nightly b-” 

Turning red, Hunk interrupted, “ANYWAY, I brought you a drink, babe, why don’t you work on that?” Lance, thankfully, didn’t argue with that, which allowed Hunk to turn his attention to Pretty- no, wait, he had a name- to Keith. “So, I’m sure he already told you, but we loved your performance just now. Do you sing like, professionally, or?”

Keith seemed very amused by them, his lips quirking into a half-smile, and- wait, did he just check Hunk out the same way he did Lance? “Nope. I’m a pilot.”

Lance ooh’ed appreciatively, easily impressed. “Like, for the air force?”

Keith looked away, avoidant. “Ah, no. Not anymore. Just commercial, now.”

Lance would’ve asked what that meant, but Hunk spoke first, reading Keith’s body language a little better than his oblivious boyfriend did. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it. “That’s so cool! So you must’ve been lots of cool places, huh?”

~~~

Before they knew it, the bartender announced “Last call!” and they all went quiet. Lance and Hunk rarely stayed out this late; Keith was rarely sober enough not to stumble out by the time the bar closed. It turned out talking to people instead of sitting alone and brooding led to having less time for drinking, who knew?

“So, we should probably get out of here.” Hunk begins, and Lance smiles over at him, but Keith’s face falls.

“Yeah, it’s about that time.” He answers, aloof and cold where he’d been laughing with them a minute before. “Believe it or not, I have work tomorrow.” 

“Aw, that sucks.” Lance cringes sympathetically, but he also scoots closer, putting both hands in Keith’s thighs and patting. “Hey, da me-” 

“What-?” Keith slaps his hands away, immensely confused, and then a heavy arm is around his shoulders. 

“He’s not a pickpocket, he’s just trying to find your phone, so he can give you his number. He just sucks at English when he’s been drinking.” Hunk explains, and Keith stiffens for a moment, as if unsure whether he wants to slap his hand away too. The big guy is difficult to argue with, though, sweet and powerful like a sugar rush personified, so Keith reaches into his back pocket and forks over his phone.

“Thank you, baby.” Lance purrs, and neither of them can tell who he’s talking to, but it doesn’t matter. He quickly types in his number, saves it as Papi Lance, and hands the device back. “Text me.” He winks and stands as if he’s about to leave, but instead of extricating himself from the tangled row of barstools, he steps closer. “Hunk, cariñito, were you keeping track of how much Keith drank? You weren’t planning on driving home, were you?”

Keith avoids eye contact, which is a yes, and Hunk gasps. “Keith! That’s not safe!”

“I’ve never crashed before,” he shrugs, and suddenly, the soft arm around him is sliding him off of his barstool onto his feet, leaving no room for questions. 

“That doesn’t mean we’re gonna let you drive drunk, Keith. Let us give you a ride home.” As nice as Hunk was, Keith could tell it wasn’t actually a suggestion.

That didn’t mean Keith wasn’t about to go quietly. “My bike will get stolen if I leave it in this neighborhood overnight.”

Lance giggled, taking him literally. “You rode a bike here?”

“It’s a motorcycle, dumbass.” He retorted, and Hunk shot him a sharp look that had the stubborn man balking. He had no idea Hunk even had the capacity to disapprove of anything.

“It’ll fit in the truck.” Hunk offered, and Keith made a doubtful noise, not believing him until they got outside and saw Hunk’s pride and joy. It was the kind of truck that caused bad drivers to think twice before tailgating, because if he braked, their car would probably smash against it like a bug on a windshield.

“How are we going to get it up there?” Keith asked, once he’d pulled his motorcycle around to the back.

The other two laughed, and Keith didn’t know why until Hunk knelt, picked it up like it was a bicycle, and set it on the truck bed. “Like that.” Hunk grinned, proud of himself without being cocky, and reached into his pocket to get his keys, heading for the driver’s seat. 

“You sure you wanna go home?” Lance teased once he was out of earshot, bringing a hand up to Keith’s chin to shut his open mouth. Keith only grumbled and pushed him towards the passenger side door, but Lance wouldn’t forget that expression anytime soon. Keith was no heterosexual, that much was certain. The backseat was cramped at best, so they all piled into the front instead, Lance in the middle. “So,” he began once they were settled in, his tone far too innocent for him to not be up to something. “Keith just asked if he could come home with us, instead. Can he?”

Keith narrowed his eyes at Lance; he hadn’t said that. Or at least, he was pretty sure he hadn’t. He wasn’t about to argue with that idea, though. It wasn’t every day that an attractive couple invited him over for a menage-a-trois, so he simply nodded, leaning forward a little to look at Hunk.

Hunk hesitated. They were adorable, looking at him with matching hopeful expressions, and he’d be lying if he claimed he didn’t want to say yes, but some things couldn’t be compromised. “No.” Keith deflated, but quickly hid his feelings about rejection under a mildly annoyed facade, arms crossed. What a cutie. “You’re both drunk, and I’d feel like some kinda predator. Which way’s your place, Keith?”

Keith pointed left, and Hunk headed that way, but Lance wasn’t quite as good at silently accepting rejection. “Predator?? Papi, porfa. It's not like it would be the first time we fucked after I had a few drinks, and it’s not like Keith is some underage-”

“I said no, Lance.” He left no room for argument, and they were all quiet until Hunk added, “You’re much better in bed when you’re sober, anyway. I bet Keith is, too.”

Realizing that Hunk hadn't said no because he wasn't interested, Keith’s scowl lightened, which, as Lance was slowly learning, almost counted as a smile. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see. It's a right turn up ahead, by the way, after the gas station.” He continued giving directions, although it was much harder to remember where he lived once Lance leaned over and started murmuring dirty things in his ear.

Hunk noticed, of course, but made very little effort to stop him until Keith was good and flustered. “Let him breathe, Lance, he’s red as a stop sign.” He chuckled, and if it was even possible, Keith turned redder once his blush was pointed out.

“He doesn’t mind, though. Do you, Keith?” Lance grinned, and Keith huffed.

“Yes I do.” He complained, “You can’t just tell me no and then tease me the whole way home.”

“Oh, but I can. What’cha gonna do about it?” Lance grinned, and Keith snapped, reaching up towards his head. 

Hunk stopped him before he could make contact, though, catching Keith’s hand by the wrist and fixing him with another Look. “Tell me you were not about to lay a hand on my man, in my truck.”

Keith blinked. “No, I- well, yes, I was, but I wasn’t about to hit him.”

“Then what were you gonna do?”

“Pull his hair.” Keith answered honestly, and Lance, who was already beaming when Hunk called him his man, bit his own lower lip, far from opposed to that idea.

“I mean, I-” Lance began, but Hunk stopped him, letting Keith’s wrist go after a gentle apology.

“There will be none of that. No fighting in the truck- and no making out, either, ‘cause I need you paying attention to where we’re going.” It was almost disturbing that Hunk knew exactly where hair pulling would lead, but Lance was used to this. He knew what Lance would do before Lance did, half the time.

So, the rest of the ride went smoothly. Keith alternated between giving directions and sulking, and Lance turned his attention to bothering Hunk. Once they pulled up to Keith’s apartment building, Hunk got out to help him get his motorcycle back down. This time, though, rather than just ogling, Keith impulsively grabbed the bigger man’s shirt and pulled him in for a kiss once his motorcycle was safely on the ground. 

Hunk wasn’t ready. He wasn’t used to being manhandled, especially by someone Keith’s size, but the other was deceptively strong, and intensely passionate for someone who pretended not to care about anything, too. By the time Keith released him, Hunk had forgotten how to breathe, but all he said was, “Thanks for the ride, big guy.” And he would’ve taken his bike and disappeared up the stairs to his apartment, if not for Lance showing up and inserting himself between them. 

“Don’t thank us ‘til we give you a real ride, cutie.” He smirked and leaned in for a kiss, briefly sneaking his tongue between Keith’s lips before pulling away. “And don’t kiss Hunk like that without asking, next time. I know he’s scarier than me, but I’ll still kill you.”

“Alright, there’s no need for that, especially when you’re the one that suggested this, Lance.” Hunk gently pulled him away, and Keith laughed, utterly unapologetic. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said nothing, only waved and jogged up the stairs to his apartment.

He definitely had to text Lance tomorrow.


	2. Call me Maybe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys text a lot, talk a lot, and make decisions both good and bad.

Naturally, the first thing out of Keith’s mouth in the morning, besides bile, was “Fuck,” groaned softly like he was apologizing for mistreating his body in this way. Unfortunately, it showed no sign of forgiving him anytime soon. He had a lot of regrets, and drinking until the bar closed, on a day when he had to be at work in a few hours, was at the top of that list at the moment. Come to think of it, had he ever made a good decision? 

When the events of last night came flooding back, including the part where he kissed not just one, but both of his new friends, on purpose, without thinking or asking, the answer to that question was a resounding no. Was he out of line?  Lance did threaten his life. He was probably out of line. They were both taken. By each other. Or maybe Lance had been kidding. Oh, god. Time to take a few painkillers and reflect on his poor choices all the way from Miami to New York.

~~

Meanwhile, Lance was at home, spamming his poor boyfriend with texts even though he knew very well that Hunk was at work.

**From: Babe 12:32pm**

He still didn’t text me :(

**From: Babe 12:33pm**

Do u think he actually liked us?

**From: Babe 12:34pm**

What if we creeped him out?

**From: Babe 12:38pm**

I mean, I guess it doesn’t matter, I already have the greatest bf ever. But u don’t usually go along with my #wild plots

**From: Babe 12:40pm**

Or did I just think u liked him ‘cause I was drinking?? 

**From: Babe 12:42pm**

Oh god

**From: Babe 12:43pm**

Is that why yr not texting me back :((( I’m sorry bby I wasn’t trying to make u mad :((((

 

Finally, Hunk got tired of his phone buzzing every sixty seconds, and called him as soon as his lunch break began at one o’clock.

“Hey, baby! About time.”

“I’m at work, Lance. You know I can’t text at work. I’m calling you on my lunch break.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. But please talk quietly, my head is killing me.”

“And that’s your own fault, sweetheart. But seriously, do me a favor and calm down about Keith, okay? It’s only one o’clock, and we dropped him off at like, two thirty last night. If he didn’t go right to sleep then, he’s probably still asleep. Or at work. I dunno how pilot schedules work. And no, before you start in on that, I’m not mad at you. I liked him too. We should talk about that a little when I get home, by the way.” He glanced around, relieved when none of his coworkers were within earshot. The last thing he needed was for Helen from Accounting to hear him planning a gay threesome over the phone. She’d probably start passive-aggressively leaving bible verses on his desk.

“What do you mean?” Naturally, Lance didn’t get the hint- or he did, and just loved to torture him.

“You know what I mean! Like, are we gonna just be bros with him, or?”

Lance laughed. “Well, it sure didn’t  _ seem _ like he wanted to be bros last night, unless he makes a habit of making out with all of his pals. But yeah, I gotcha. I guess we gotta decide whether we wanna like, take him to dinner and make it serious, or fuck him and ghost.”

Hunk sighed, internally saying a small prayer for patience, serenity, and more patience. “I don’t particularly like the second option, babe. Even if it’s just a- y’know what, never mind, like I said, we should talk this over at home.”

Lance giggled; he could practically hear Hunk blush over the phone. “Okay, fine. No more talkin’ about fucking, then. What do I do if he does text me, though? Am I not allowed to reply till five?” He whined towards the end.

If it were possible to roll your eyes audibly, Hunk would. “No, of course you can talk to him- it’s not my job to moderate who you talk to, obviously- but, is it that hard to keep away from  _ that  _ topic for a couple hours? Ask the man how his day is. Heck’s sake.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll be a perfect gentleman. You know better than anyone how good I am at getting a conversation off topic.” Lance reassured him with a chuckle. “I’ll give him your number, too, so he can text you if he wants.”

“Sure,” Hunk nodded, ameliorated for now. “But, also tell him I’m at work? Just in case he has the same lack of chill you do.”

It was a mild insult, not a joke, but Lance laughed again, anyway. “Will do. Enjoy your lunch, papichulo. I’m sorry for bothering you earlier.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

“At least a few more. Love you!” And Lance hung up. He was going to pay for this later… but for now, Hunk’s lunch was more important than revenge.

~~

**From: Unrecognized Number 3:41pm**

Hey. It’s Keith, from last night at the bar?

 

Lance didn’t read the text until ten minutes after his phone pinged, because he’d been in the middle of an Overwatch match, and no text was more important than sniping the enemy Bastion off the point, but his face lit up once he realized who it was, immediately tapping out a reply.

 

**From: Papi Lance 3:51pm**

Heyyyy!! About time! :P

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

Sorry not sorry. Been busy dying.

**From: Papi Lance**

Lol same. I didn’t even move til 12:30, and even then it was too early

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

You got no room to complain, kid. I had to be up and out the house by 9.

**From: Papi Lance**

Hey! I’m not a kid >:P And I will complain all I want.

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

Fine, but don’t expect me to listen.

**From: Papi Lance**

Damn, ur mean when ur sober. :’(

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

Yes, which is why I spend as little time as possible sober. 

**From: Papi Lance**

Lol, goals.

Anyway, how’s work?

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

Boring. In NYC right now

**From: Papi Lance**

What??? Since when is NYC boring? I’ve wanted to visit there since forever

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

Bc I’m stuck in the airport. I don’t get to stay and do tourist shit every time, duh.

**From: Papi Lance**

Oh. Yeah that does sound boring. Good thing u have me to keep u entertained, huh? ;D

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

Yay.

**From: Papi Lance**

How do you sound sarcastic even over text? r00d

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

I’m talented like that

 

Lance was sorely tempted to ask about Keith’s  _ other  _ talents, but he’d promised Hunk he’d be good, and besides, that was such a fuckboy thing to say, so he went with a half-genuine compliment instead.

 

**From: Papi Lance**

Wow, singing, flying, and sarcasm, too. You’re a talented guy.

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

How you have so much free time to sass me, btw? Is Hunk your sugar daddy?

**From: Papi Lance**

Lol I wish. Nah, I’m just off today. I work tomorrow and Sunday, at the Paladin’s Arcade.

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

You work at an arcade? You really are a kid.

**From: Papi Lance**

Don’t be salty just ‘cause I’m livin’ the dream ;)

Oh also, speaking of dreamboats, Hunk’s number is 1234567890

**From: Chief Keef Keef**

=u=)b Taking off soon. Be back later

**From: Papi Lance**

Fly safe!

 

Keith shook his head as he pocketed his phone and started back towards the plane he was supposed to be readying for takeoff. How dare he be so sweet and likable and  _ taken _ ?

 

~~

 

By the time Hunk got home, Lance had spent the whole day re-hydrating and napping, so he greeted him with as much enthusiasm as ever, literally jumping into his arms. He knew Hunk could catch him, anyway, and he did, squeezing his boyfriend and shutting the door behind him with his foot. “Welcome back, honey bun!” Lance announced, and Hunk laughed.

“You act like I was gone forever. I just saw you eight hours ago.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t conscious then, so it’s been like,” he paused to count in his head, but quickly gave up, deciding that math wasn’t worth the mental energy. “More than that.”

“Alright, alright.” Hunk smiled warmly, and set Lance back on his feet before giving him a little peck. “You’re right, way too long. How was your day? Feeling better?”

“Yes! I drank pickle juice and it was horrible but it really does help. How was your day?”

“Same junk, different day. Glad it’s Friday.”

“I still can’t believe you’re like, an actual adult with a Monday-to-Friday job. Are you gonna start playing bingo and yelling at kids that play in your lawn?” Lance teased, and Hunk pouted and gently pushed him, moving further into their house to take off his shoes and such. “Aw, don’t be like that, baby, I’m just teasin’. You know I’m crazy proud of you for getting an engineering job before most of our generation even graduated. You’re a genius. A prodigy, in fact! A man beyond all-”

“Okay, okay! Stop, oh my gosh,” Hunk protested and moved to cover Lance’s mouth with his hand, but he was grinning, and Lance knew he didn’t mind the praise. “You’re too much.”

Lance said something behind the hand that might have been, ‘you love it, tho.’ but Hunk didn’t give him a chance to repeat himself before he was smothering him with more kisses.

 

Eventually, once they were settled down to dinner, the inevitable came up. Lance raised his eyebrows at Hunk and, ever so calmly like he was asking about the weather, inquired, “Did Keith ever text you, by the way?”

“Nope. I think he likes you more.” Hunk shrugged, “I get it, you’re like, super charming.”

Lance laughed loudly. “Hunk, babe, are you  _ kidding _ me? He was being a jerk to me at the bar until you came along, and then later on, when he saw you lift his motorcycle, I’m pretty sure he came in his pants. He’s totally into you. It’s impossible not to be.”

Hunk smiled, bashful. “I think you’re a bit biased on this subject.”

“You’re damn right I am.” He set down his fork to cup his hands around his mouth, twisting as if addressing an entire stadium of people and not their empty kitchen. “Everyone better love Hunk Garrett! He’s the best!”

Hunk giggled and waved him off, “okay, okay, point made. I’m sure he’ll text eventually. What did you two talk about?”

“Hangovers and work, mostly. Oh!” Lance snapped his fingers as he suddenly remembered. “That’s why he hasn’t texted you, there’s no cell service at like twenty thousand feet or whatever. He’s flying back from New York right now. He was bitching about it, too, ‘cause apparently flying there doesn’t mean he gets to actually do anything there.”

“Aw, that sucks. I bet he gets free plane tickets whenever, though, working for an airline.”

“Ugh, that sounds like the dream. Maybe he’ll take us somewhere cool sometime! I’ve been wanting to visit New York ever since I could say Big Apple, and it sounds like he’s been a thousand times.” Lance started singing, “New Yooork, concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there’s nothin’-”

Hunk snorted. “I don’t think it’s like that- it’s just Miami with colder weather and better pizza. But yeah, I bet he would if we asked. That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about, though- a New York trip sounds like something boyfriends would do together, or at least, you know, very good friends. What even is Keith?”

“Ehh, well, right now he’s a friend, I guess, but he could definitely be more. Like I said earlier, I’m 100% sure he’s got a lush on you.”

“A what.”

“Y’know, a mix between lust and crush, like a crush but less ‘I wanna date you’ and more ‘I wanna suck your dick’.”

Hunk put his face in one hand. He should be used to Lance saying things like that by now, and yet, it never got any easier. After taking a second to compose himself, he dragged said hand down his face and continued. “Okay, so, what do  _ you _ think of that?”

“Well, he kinda made it weird last night, I didn’t like that he just kissed you by surprise while he thought I wasn’t looking. But I don’t think he meant anything by it. He’s just awkward.” 

Lance’s optimism was endearing, as always, but not actually the answer Hunk was looking for. “Okay, but- what do you think of him, unrelated to me, I mean?” He had to know his boyfriend was onboard before he admitted his own attraction to Keith. Lance was a sweet guy, but his insecurity was a monster more easily provoked than quieted.

Lance seemed confused. “I like him. He’s kind of a jerk, but actually pretty cool once you get past the, y’know, claws and barbed wire fences.” He paused, examining Hunk’s anxious expression for a moment, and smirked slowly. “Or are you asking if I’d fuck him?”

Hunk sighed, seemingly in physical pain. Was there really no other way for him to get an answer without drawing it out like a splinter? “Yes, that’s what I’m asking.”

“Totally.” Lance answered without hesitation. “Wouldn’t you? Pretty, fit, n’ sassy seems to be your Type.” He shimmied his shoulders playfully, talking himself up a little.

That drew a wry smile from Hunk; he hadn’t realized how similar they were, but now that he thought about it, Lance had a point. “I don’t have a type. Shay was thick with two c’s, and like, way too nice to sass anybody, remember?”

“Whatever, do high school relationships even count? You didn’t answer my question.” Lance pointed out, leaning in with his chin in both hands like they were still in high school and Hunk had picked truth.

“Fine, yeah, I would. I just didn’t want you getting all crazy jealous if I said so.” 

“Wh-! I don’t get crazy jealous!”

“You threatened to kill Keith for kissing me, Lance.”

“...Affectionately.” Lance couldn’t deny that he’d threatened him, but he could deny having meant it.

Hunk laughing at him didn’t help the sulk that was growing on him like a mold. “How- how do you threaten someone’s life affectionately?” He could hardly get the question out between laughs. It wasn’t often that Hunk called Lance on his bullshit, but every now and then, temptation got the best of him.

Once Lance was convinced to stop sulking, he brought the conversation back to the beginning. “Alright, so we both think he’s attractive and cool, that was obvious. So what’s the question?”

“Do you wanna date him? Or is he gonna be, like, a friend with benefits? Or a one-time fling? Or maybe like a one-time thing that turns into friends with benefits because what if he’s really good in bed?”

“I guess that’s up to him.” Lance shrugged. “I still don’t really know if he just wants a one-night stand or something a little more serious.” He paused and leaned closer, as if Keith would hear them. “Just between me and you, though, he didn’t strike me as particularly classy. I don’t think he’d care if we were just like, hey, let’s watch flicks and touch dicks.”

Hunk leaned back, practically clutching his pearls at that. “Maybe he isn’t classy, but we are!”

“We are?” Lance’s tone carried an unspoken ‘since when?’ with it. “We just had leftover Chinese takeout with a side of pizza rolls for dinner.”

“Yes, we heckin’ are! We’re not the kinda jerks that’ll just sleep with a guy and then just leave him. We should take him to dinner.” Lance said nothing, only smiled at him with soft eyes and a hand on his chest, and Hunk faltered, his self-righteous attitude dissipating like a Florida rainstorm. “What?”

“You precious soul. You have a  _ crush _ on him!”

“No I don’t!”

“You wanna date him, wine and dine him! Yes you do!” 

“Shut up! It’s called being nice! You weren’t seriously about to call him up and give him that ‘watch flicks and touch dicks’ rhyme.”

Lance genuinely paused to think about it, but conceded when he saw the intensity of the pout brewing on Hunk’s face. “Alright, fine, I wouldn’t actually do that. But it’s still adorable that you’re such an old-fashioned gentleman.”

Hunk shrugged and mumbled “‘s not adorable.” around a mouthful of his dinner and pink cheeks, which Lance found even cuter. 

 

~~

 

**Text From: Unrecognized Number**

Hey, Hunk. It’s Keith. Lance gave me your number

**Text From: Hunk**

Hey! Been waiting to hear from you. How was your day? :D

 

Keith died a little bit. Hunk was waiting for him?? They weren’t mad at him? At all? What kind of aliens were these two?

 

**Text From: Keith**

It was okay. Flying while hungover sucks- ears popping, etc

**Text From: Hunk**

Ooh, yikes. Why do you do it then?? :P

**Text From: Keith**

Future Keith has to deal with problems like hangovers. Current Keith is havin tequila for dinner bc I’m responsible adult

**Text From: Hunk**

Keith, no

**Text From: Keith**

Keith yes

**Text From: Hunk**

If you want dinner, we’ve got leftovers at our place :3

 

_ What did that mean? _ Was Hunk just a really nice guy that liked to feed people? He had mentioned cooking as a hobby last night, yes. Or did this mean something else? Hunk was so much harder to read than Lance was. Keith panicked and declined- but gently.

 

**Text From: Keith**

You said no drunk driving, though

**Text From: Hunk**

True!! Stay home. Drink water. Please eat something, too

**Text From: Keith**

Ok, chill, mom, I was kidding. I’m having pasta.

**Text From: Hunk**

I’m not your mom >:(

 

Keith’s phone chimed in a text from a different number, and somehow, he knew who it was before he opened it.

 

**Text From: Papi Lance**

Don’t worry, Hunk is momfriend @everyone. (I was reading over his shoulder, yes)

**Text From: Chief Keef Keef / Keith, Sent to: Papi Lance, Hunk**

If ur gonna creep we might as well just have a group chat

**Text From: Hunk**

Lol, do you have Lance saved as Papi?

**Text From: Lance**

;)

**Text From: Keith**

Fixed it. Thank u for reminding me. Now he’s saved as ‘Shakira’

**Text From: Lance**

Even better.

Tell me you aren’t really having tequila with pasta, though. Pasta goes with wine obvi

**Text From: Keith**

You seem to think I’m not a savage

**Text From: Hunk**

Horrifying. Idk if we can still be friends

 

Keith tried to laugh, but honestly, he felt like there was a disturbing amount of foreshadowing in that joke. Something had to give. When were they going to get bored of him? When was he going to actually offend them? It wasn’t a matter of _if_. These guys were far too good to be true. The only people who were  this nice were salesmen. He just couldn’t figure out what it was that they were selling. He kept texting them, the three joking back and forth for most of the evening, but he couldn’t get that question out of his head. If they were together, they had that box checked off of their life. Some long-dead optimistic corner of his mind suggested, hey, maybe they just like making new friends? But, as usual, it was quashed quickly. They could’ve picked anyone in that bar to be friends with. It had to be something else.

He had so many more questions than answers, so, like an idiot, he answered them with more tequila. Before long, he didn’t give a damn why they were talking to him. He was busy giggling at Hunk’s goofy puns and replying to Lance’s winky faces with more winky faces, and eventually, they noticed.

His phone rang.

“Hello?” He answered tentatively, carefully enunciating so he wouldn’t sound too drunk. He didn’t need his new friends thinking he was an alcoholic-- even if he was.

Lance’s teasing smile was obvious. “Hey, cutie. Just calling to make sure you’re okay. You could spell the word ‘cat’ just fine, earlier.”

“I can still spell cat.” Keith replied simply. “Typing is just hard.”

“I’m sure you can, but that wasn’t the question. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Suddenly, Hunk’s voice replaced Lance’s. “How much did you drink, though?”

Keith rolled his eyes, remembered they couldn’t see him do so, and groaned for emphasis. “Enough. Why, you worried ‘bout me?”

“Well, yeah, actually.”

Keith laughed loudly at that, but the sound was strangely humorless. “That’s a bad fuckin’ idea.”

“No it’s not.” Hunk sounded hurt.

Keith drowned out however he felt about that with another shot, and hung up.

 

**From: Keith**

im going tbed godnifht

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, Keith, you had to go and fuck it up.   
> Don't worry, ch 3 will be up soon, and I don't have the heart for angst anyway c:  
> P.S. Sorry if this wasn't a particularly interesting chapter, I thought it was important for them to talk things over bc that's just how couples do!   
> Tune in next time for... Green Paladin Bad Advice Hotline


	3. Of Fuckboys and Macarons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, are you... do you two... fondue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you know who/what the summary is referencing, lmao

After the tequila incident on Friday, they were quiet for a couple days, and Keith told himself that didn’t sting even a little. It was exactly what he expected, wasn’t it? He’d been a jerk to Hunk, when all the cinnamon roll of a man did was ask if he was okay, and his effort to push them away had worked. He wasn’t surprised. It was supposed to.

He wished it hadn’t worked, though.

He spent Sunday brooding.  _ Why am I like this? _

Of course, if he ever bothered to get some psychological help, like most of his exes had suggested shortly before becoming exes, he’d have plenty of answers for that. Having parents who went missing and were never found would give anyone issues. Being kicked out of the military, which was all he had after aging out of the foster system, would give anyone issues. Finding another veteran to connect with and subsequently hinge his life on, only to watch both Shiro and himself crumble like oreos in milk until he couldn’t keep both of them afloat... would probably give anyone issues. 

But was he going to talk about that shit? To a condescending therapist? Who’d ask stupid questions like  _ How do you feel about that? _ Of course not. The only answer he could give was, he just felt pissed off about it. He’d seen counselors before, back when he was still considered ‘a poor troubled child’ and not just a dysfunctional adult. They’d said he needed things like “closure” and “constructive coping methods”. As if counting to ten would fix him. As if he was a problem that needed fixing, period.

Ugh.

 

~~

 

Keith was on his way out of the gym, having given a couple of its punching bags the time of their lives, when his phone rang. He grumbled as he dug his phone out of his bag, wondering who’d even bother calling him on a Sunday night, and literally stumbled over the curb in the gym’s parking lot when he saw who it was. Why would Lance be calling him? “Heyy.” He faked a casual tone as he answered, as if the inside of his head didn’t sound like a horror movie. “What’s up?”

“Not much! I’m on my break at work, and I figured it was high time we talked.”

‘We need to talk’ registered at about the same panic level as ‘you have seven days to live’ on Keith’s scale. “Uh, about?”

“Well, about us. I mean, the three of us. I feel like we got off to a good start, but I just don’t know you as well as I’d like. Do ya like jazz? Is pineapple on pizza delicious, or an abomination? Is Mothman real? Do you love me yet? How’s your relationship with your mom? Have you ever killed a man? I won’t tell anyone, if you have.”

Lance’s questions only raised more of Keith’s. What did he mean  _ do you love me yet _ ? Why would any of these things matter to him? Who even had time for a heart-to-heart on a work break? Keith’s chill facade failed him, and the stammering began. “Uh. I- yeah, kinda. I mean, no, not the part about lo-” That is, until he heard Lance laughing hysterically on the other side.

“I’m just fucking with you, dude.” He barely managed to finish the sentence between laughs. “We just missed ya. What are you up to?”

Keith sighed. “Just got done working a punching bag. You keep annoying me, though, and I might just be able to cancel my gym membership and use you.” He was mostly kidding, probably.

“Oh, yeah?” Lance didn’t sound sufficiently threatened. “I’ve heard I’m great for stress relief, but I don’t know if you can afford me.” 

Keith didn’t know how to answer that. So he hung up on him instead.

Keith hated him.

So why was he smiling as he drove home?

 

~~

 

Lance’s call was a blessing and a curse, but mostly a curse. Calling meant he wasn’t avoiding him the way he thought, which was great news, but it also brought back the questions that had made him drink himself into a stupor the other night, and a few more. Why did Lance miss him? Was he serious about his flirty ‘stress relief’ remark? Why wasn’t he fazed by being used as a punching bag? What kind of kinky shit- no, no, Keith didn’t need to think about that.

He wanted to, though.

He also wanted to avoid tackling the issue that was Lance, but then, he definitely didn’t need to quiet his problems with tequila again, either, because the entirety of his Saturday was spent in hangover hell, alternating between napping and hugging the toilet. 

Making the first semi-good decision he had in days, probably weeks, Keith dialed up the same friend he usually called in a crisis.

“Hyello!”

“Pidge. I need help. Gay shit is happening.”

“Yes, perfect. I, an ace, am an expert on gay shit.” She wasn’t, as the sarcasm in her voice betrayed, but she continued anyway. “Is gay shit happening around you, or like, internally?”

Keith hesitated. “Both? The gay shit happening around me is making me feel things.”

“Oh, god! The aliens have taken Keith Kogane and replaced him with someone who talks about his feelings!” 

“Kay, never mind, have a good night.” 

“Nonono don’t hang up! I’m kidding, talk to me. Who is this magic man that infected you with feelings?”

“A couple of guys I met at a bar the other night.”

“Wait, a couple? As in two separate single guys, or as in, they’re dating each other?”

Keith dragged a hand over his face, already exhausted. Leave it to Pidge to extract every detail. “Yes.”

“Oh, dude.” She already sounded like she was mourning him. “I know you’re like, the Reigning Champion of The Bad Decision Olympics, but you didn’t have to outdo yourself like that.” 

“I know. But listen, it gets worse. The night we met, they spent hours with me,  _ flirting _ , and then drove me home and left my drunk ass. But one of them gave me his number, and they keep texting me, and what the fuck is going on?”

“Have you considered uhhh,” Pidge drew it out, then finished, “asking them, and not me, what their intentions are?”

“That sounds like a terrible plan.”

“Oh, yes. Talking to people. What could be worse than that.” Unsolved mysteries of the world: how could such a small body hold so much sarcasm?

“Being stabbed in the foot with a rusty fork. Or I assume it’s worse, considering I’ve only tried one of these options, and my foot is fine.”

“Keith, what the fuck else do you want me to say. Maybe they’re in an open relationship, and they’re trying to get you in on it, or maybe they’re just Super Nice Guys™ and you just thought they were flirting because you’re gayer than the Tony Awards. But I can’t answer that, ‘cause I’ve never met ‘em.”

“No way, it can’t be me, I’m the worst at detecting flirting, and one of them is  _ really blatant _ . I was just on the phone with him twenty minutes ago and he was like hey, you can use me for stress relief anytime.”

“What if he’s looking for a sparring buddy? Did you mention you love to fight?”

“Yeah, but- he said all kinds of other shit at the bar the other night, things I can’t repeat because you’re a toddler.”

“I’m not a virgin toddler, though.”

“That’s… the worst thing you’ve ever said to me. I’m hanging up now.”

“Bye!” She was cackling even as he hit the little red ‘end call’ symbol. Sometimes he missed flip phones. Those offered a much more emphatic way to hang up on people.

Pidge did make some good points, as much as Keith hated to admit it. After sitting on the idea for all of twelve seconds, he decided overthinking it wouldn’t help, so he picked his phone back up to text Hunk- but not in their group chat, partially because he was petty and Lance was annoying, yes, but also because Lance’s use of ‘we’ meant Hunk must have missed him too. 

 

**Text from: Keith**

Hey big guy. Lance said he was at work, what are you up to this evening?

 

Keith panicked immediately after hitting send. That sounded more suspicious than a “wyd?” at 2 in the morning.

Blessedly, the other didn’t take it that way, and responded with a picture as an answer. At first Keith thought he was just terrible at taking selfies, considering his face was awkwardly far enough into the corner of the screen that only one eye, his nose, and part of his tongue was visible, but when he looked into the background, he saw why. He was in the kitchen, and the counter behind him held a tray of colorful little circles-- Keith zoomed in, and still had no clue what they were-- as well as the tools used to make them. A sticky-looking piping bag, a roll of wax paper, a mixing bowl, a half-empty bag of powdered sugar.

**Text from: Keith**

Cute! What are those, pink oreos??

**Text from: Hunk**

Are u kidding me rn

**Text from: Keith**

No...

Keith frowned down at his phone, confused. What had he done, offended Hunk by asking about cookies?? He thought he’d like talking about baking, but maybe he was wrong. Keith was far more used to being failed by his social skills than aided by them. Just before spiraling into despair about a baking conversation, though, he received a text with an address in it.

**Text from: Hunk**

Come over right now. you need to b educated on the glory of macarons

Well, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Keith went and grabbed his keys.

**Text from: Keith**

On my way.

 

~~~

 

Overall, Lance loved his job. It was as fun a job as one could ask for, even if it did sometimes involve weird, nasty tasks like peeling sixteen pieces of chewed bubblegum off of a skee-ball machine. (In which case, he had to wonder, why? What was the goal there?) Not counting those moments, the only thing he genuinely disliked about it was the noise level. Between the constant music, blinging of jackpot sirens, and screaming of tiny patrons, his ears were usually ringing by the time he got home.

It made him extra thankful to come home to Hunk, the world’s gentlest giant, who’d wait up for him even on nights when he got home well after midnight. So, as he walked through the front door, it was no surprise to see the kitchen light was on, to smell the distinctive sweetness of something freshly baked, or to hear his lover’s voice call, “Welcome home, babe!” come from that direction. He quickly kicked his shoes off and, like a cartoon character floating on a cloud, he walked towards it.

Unfortunately for him, being focused on Hunk right by the doorway meant that he entirely overlooked Keith, who, like some kind of gargoyle, was perched on the table instead of in a chair like a normal fucking human being. So, when the gargoyle spoke, his innocuous “Hey.” was enough to make Lance shriek and jump, gripping his boyfriend’s shirt like he might need to pull him out of harm’s way. Keith, of course, laughed his ass off at that, nearly dropping the delicate cookie that was in his tacky-fingerless-glove-clad hand.

Hunk tried his best not to laugh, and failed, but he did wrap his arms around Lance as he laughed at him, which soothed his mortification greatly. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, honey, I texted you that Keith was here- you didn’t check?”

“No! My phone died! An hour  _ after  _ he hung up on me, by the way! Since when do you two hang without me?” Lance protested, turning a kicked-puppy look on both of them.

Hunk felt bad as usual, but Keith had no ‘usual’ to compare it to, and was not ready for Lance’s caliber of puppy eyes. The sweeter of the two hugged him tighter and murmured soothing things, making sure to include the fact that Keith had just arrived, and to assure him of the importance of letting their new friend try macarons. 

They all settled down after that, especially because Lance was easily distracted by cookies and cute boys, but Keith seemed a little off, a little distant now that it was the three of them. Hunk noticed first, and chose not to comment on it. Chances were, he felt a little strange to be hanging out with a couple, and the best they could do was not mention it at all. Branding something as awkward only made it more awkward, didn’t it?

Lance disagreed. “So. You seem different. I’m sure Hunk didn’t invite you over so you could sit on the edge of the table like Batman looking at Gotham and thinking about- I don’t know, whatever dark shit Batman thinks about.”

Keith raised his eyebrows. “Is comparing me to Batman supposed to be an insult?”

“Have you always been this good at dodging questions?” Lance leaned closer.

Keith, playing chicken, mirrored him and leaned in, betting he’d pull back first. “Have you ever considered being a detective? Why’s everything gotta be an interrogation?”

“Depends, have you committed any crimes?”

“No, but Hunk has.” 

Hunk was about to cut in before they started fistfighting, but Keith’s accusation brought him out of his referee position and onto the field. “Hey, what did I do?” He frowned, and the reclusive man took them both by surprise for the second time, hooking one hand around the back of Lance’s neck to hold him where he was.

Before Lance could complain, Keith was reaching up with his other hand to point something out, pressing a finger into the little bruise at the base of his neck. “Assaulted your boy with your teeth, it looks like.” He wasn’t wrong-- there was a noticeable hickey just above the collar of Lance’s shirt, obvious now that he’d unbuttoned his work polo-- but neither of them expected him to bring it up so casually. 

Hunk reacted surprisingly badly, even if ‘badly’ for him only meant gently sliding a large hand around Lance’s middle to pull him back. He liked Keith, but no one was allowed to manhandle his boyfriend like that without his permission. “I wouldn’t call it  _ assault _ , considering he asked for it, thank you very much.”

Lance, meanwhile, had ascended to nirvana. He’d just learned several interesting things about the cold, prickly stray that had followed them home, including the fact that he had no qualms about causing a little pain to make a point. Before he could object to being fought over, Keith continued teasing, “He asked for it, did he? So now we’re victim blaming?”

Hunk turned red, clearly taking the other’s jabs too seriously, but Lance owned up to it before he could go off. “I did ask for it, though.” Gently, he removed Hunk’s hand from his waist so he could stand on his own and have his next statement taken seriously. “I  _ demanded  _ it. But!” He pointed a finger at Keith like they were in a cheesy TV show and he had an objection. “In accusing someone else of a crime, you’ve revealed your own.” Rubbing his chin like he had a magnificent beard there, he grinned.

Playing along, Hunk wore a very convincing quizzical look. “So what’s the verdict, Sher-Lance Holmes?”

“Guilty!” Lance declared, and Keith rolled his eyes and grumbled something that ended up completely talked over. “Of being a fuckboy.” He paused for effect, and to savor the dumbfounded look on Keith’s face. “To see a mark this low, you must have been staring at my neck in the first place. Also, you just pulled me close like you were about to kiss me, despite illegibly coming over for the innocent baker’s so-called,  _ macarons _ .” Here he drew air quotes with his hands, as if they weren’t real, and then turned to Hunk and muttered, quietly but not quietly enough to miss, “I think he wants the D, Watson.”

“I think you mean ‘allegedly,’ Sher-Lance.” Hunk snickered, off-topic.

What a couple of nerds. That was so cheesy. Keith hadn’t expected them to take his bad joke and make it an entire production, and yet, it was disgustingly adorable that they did. “You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out.” He blurted out, surprising himself as much as the other two, and averted his eyes, turning red. “I’m sorry, what I meant was- I’m not- I didn’t actually come over for that.”

Lance smiled like he knew something the other two didn’t. “Would you like another macaron, Keith?”

Thoroughly confused, Keith looked up to search his face for any hint that he was joking or making fun of him, and found none. “Uh, no thanks. I already had like, six. What does that have to do with-?”

“Then it’s time we left the kitchen and did something more  _ interesting _ , isn’t it?” Lance took a half step towards the doorway, daring them both to follow, and something about his body language fermented the sugar in his smile into tequila, sharp and intoxicating.

Keith stared. Did his heart just stop? Did the same guy that just accused him of being a fuckboy just invite him to bed with them? Was Keith dreaming? Was Lance’s angelic bear of a boyfriend really taking his hand and gently pulling him off the table to lead him to bed? Since when was Hunk into this?

Hunk, as if reading his mind, popped that balloon of hope quickly. “We’ll pick out something to watch while you get out of your work clothes, babe.”

Oh.

They were talking about going to their living room. Because of course they were.

Keith was so busy mourning his own social ineptitude and wondering if he really was a fuckboy, he didn’t notice the look the other two shared, the kind of silent argument only people who have known each other for years can have. Lance protested, Hunk disapproved, and Lance conceded, albeit with a wrinkle of his nose that said ‘we’ll talk about this later.’

“You like video games?” Hunk asked amicably, and with a smile like that, and the warmth of his hand still enveloping Keith’s, he couldn’t even bring himself to be disappointed that they weren’t headed to bed.

They chatted about various games for minute, but once they’d settled on the couch, Hunk ostentatiously glanced over his shoulder to ensure that Lance was in the other room with the door closed, and murmured, “Sorry about him, by the way.”

If Keith thought he was confused before, he was wrong. He kept reaching new depths of misunderstanding, like he and Hunk spoke different languages. “Uh, what?”

“You just said you weren’t over here for that, and he kept flirting anyway, so I’m apologizing for both of us. Lance has no brain-to-mouth filter sometimes, especially around attractive people.” 

He sounded genuinely apologetic, which made Keith feel even worse when he couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud. 

Hunk furrowed his eyebrows, immensely confused, but it was so rare to see Keith laugh, he couldn’t help but feel like this was a gift. “What? What did I say that was funny?”

How could Keith even explain how mistaken he was? “I don’t- y’know what, just, know that you don’t need to apologize to me for anything, okay? Especially not Lance.”

Hunk tilted his head, enormous brown eyes analyzing Keith like he was a math problem, and then seemed to simply accept it. “Okay.”

Lance returned a minute later, and they played several rounds of Mario Kart before Hunk gently reminded them what time it was. They argued a little, but he was quick to remind them that he was the only one with a day job he had to get up early for, and if they were in the living room screaming at each other about blue shells, he’d never get to sleep.

So, Keith had to go. The other two squished him into a group hug before they’d let him leave, though, and somehow, even after being kicked out, he felt better than he had in weeks.

 

Lance, on the other hand, had a bone to pick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sexual tension intensifies*  
> Also, if you've already been following this story, I'm sorry it's been so long! I've been working on other projects, so it will probably be awhile until I update this again! I am not abandoning this story, though, I swear <3  
> Chapter 4 is going to up the rating, I think ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment, let me know what you thought. Even if you thought it sucked, constructive criticism is helpful.


End file.
